Yesterday while Max was over I realized that right now, he and Evan are the same 'age'.
Evan is 11 years old, and Max is 11 months old.
It's a huge difference, I know. But not that long ago (really, I swear it wasn't), Evan was only 11 months old. He was starting to walk, and getting into everything. Climbing on my lap while I ate lunch, trying to steal bites of my food. Loving cars and balloons and big wet zerberts on his thighs. And while I'm very glad that I don't have a baby and have to deal with all the accoutrement of babyhood, I sure am glad I get to experience Max in his. It makes me a little less frustrated with the burgeoning teen boy, remembering what a sweet and loving baby he was. The sweet and loving boy he can be when he wants to.
Boys. Gotta love 'em.